Trauma
by pulpbomb
Summary: Greg loved the way Sherlock made him feel. Wanted, desirable, addictive. He loved the way it felt when Sherlock touched him. Greg wanted to do the same for Sherlock but Sherlock wouldn't let him. Something was obviously wrong. Sherstrade
1. Chapter 1

Greg loved the way Sherlock made him feel. Wanted, desirable, addictive. He loved the way it felt when Sherlock touched him, the fullness when he filled him. The look on Sherlock's face when he came deep inside him.

But Greg wanted to do the same for Sherlock. They'd been together for six months and Sherlock always took the lead, even when Lestrade attempted to. Sherlock tried to be subtle about it, well, subtle for Sherlock, but it was obvious something was wrong. He wouldn't let Greg near his arse, no matter how much Greg tried to show him he just wanted to reciprocate.

Greg might not be a proper genius like Sherlock but he was a damn good detective. He could read the signs and the evidence presented before him. Something happened to Sherlock that made him shy away from that aspect of physical contact. Something happened to make Sherlock insist on topping every time they made love.

Another month passed. Once, Greg tried to touch Sherlock's bottom while Sherlock was inside him, but quickly moved his hands away when he felt his lover tense and the movement of his hips.

Greg knew he had to broach this topic. He also knew that Sherlock did not want him to and that the conversation would be painful and possible detrimental to their relationship. But he felt even more strongly that not talking about would be worse.

One night after Sherlock solved a case for the Met and had dinner with John, he came over to Lestrade's flat and let himself in. Greg had been nursing a beer, half watching the late news when his lover arrived.

"Hey there, love. Didn't expect to see you tonight." Lestrade said as Sherlock came and sat next to him on the sofa after throwing is coat on an armchair.

"Yes well, I need to sleep tonight and I've discovered I sleep better when with you." Sherlock stated blandly as if he hadn't revealed something intimate. Lestrade put his arm around the other man's shoulders and hugged him tight.

"I sleep better when I'm next to you, too." He kissed Sherlock's temple and set down his beer on the coffee table. "Come on, let's get you into bed."

Sherlock stood then paused, looking uncomfortable. "Um, Greg, I just want to rest. It's been three days since I've slept and I'm utterly knackered."

Lestrade took his hand and gently tugged him towards the bedroom. "It's fine, Sherlock, I love just sleeping with you. I won't attempt to ravage you." He aimed for a lighthearted jest but could tell by the set of Sherlock's shoulder's that he'd failed. He sighed to himself. They were definitely talking about this but he'd let Sherlock sleep and regain his equilibrium first.

In his bedroom, Greg stripped Sherlock down to his pants efficiently and tucked him under the covers. He went to leave the room when Sherlock grasped his wrist.

"Stay." Lestrade wondered if Sherlock knew how vulnerable he sounded right then. If he did, he probably hated it.

"I'm just going to lock up and shut off the lights. I'll be back in two minutes." Greg leaned over and brushed Sherlock's hair away from his eyes, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

The next morning, Sherlock was up and puttering in the kitchen when Greg woke. He staggered to the bathroom, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. After a quick shower, he went in search of tea. Sherlock for all his faults, always made Greg tea when he stayed over.

Sure enough there was a steaming cup on the counter but no Sherlock. A note next to the tea said he went to meet Mycroft and that he'd text him later. Lestrade sighed. He wondered if Sherlock knew what he wanted to discuss and was avoiding the conversation.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time Lestrade saw Sherlock was at a crime scene later in the week. The two men had texted each other daily but their schedules conspired to keep them apart. At least, Lestrade hoped it was only their schedules and not Sherlock actively avoiding him.

Sherlock approached him while John finished examining the body. Lestrade watched him walked forward, careful to keep his face schooled in a neutral expression.

"Lestrade," Sherlock said softly, "may I come over this evening? There are matters I wish to discuss with you."

The DI felt his heart plummet. Sherlock was going to end their relationship. He knew Greg was going to push and Sherlock would rather shut him out completely than share whatever was bothering him.

Sherlock saw his face fall, Lestrade was too shocked to maintain a facade, and intuited his reaction.

"No, Greg, I simply want to talk to you. I'm not ending our relationship, I promise you" Sherlock spoke quietly and placed a hand on Lestrade's upper arm, grasping it firmly. "Please, never think that."

Lestrade let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Yeah, alright. Come by around 8pm. I'll get us takeaway."

Sherlock squeezed his arm before letting go with a nod. John approached the two men and their focus quickly shifted to the matter at hand.

When Sherlock let himself into Lestrade's flat that night, it smelled of Indian food and he could hear the shower running. He went into the kitchen and began opening the cartons of takeaway and plating the food. As he finished, Lestrade came in, wearing sleep clothes and towel drying his hair.

"Thanks, love." Lestrade accepted the plate Sherlock gave him and they sat down at the kitchen table to eat. When they finished, Sherlock got up and rinsed their plates, surprising Lestrade who knew the detective hated to clean up anything.

Sherlock put the kettle on for tea and turned to face Lestrade, leaning against the kitchen counter.

"Greg, what I have to say… It's difficult for me to discuss." He spoke, gazing directly at his lover, brows furrowed.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable. I just want to understand you better." Lestrade hoped his eyes showed his sincerity. Yes, he was puzzled by Sherlock's behavior but he could deal with it. He would never force Sherlock to confront his demons if he wasn't ready to, desperate though he was to help the younger man cope with whatever was bothering him.

"I know that. I want to tell you. I just don't know that I'm able to. Ordinarily I would have just deleted the event as well as my reaction to it, but instead I buried it deep in my mind palace. However, I realize it's not fair to keep this from you. You deserve to know the truth about me." The kettle shut off and Sherlock busied himself with making two cups of tea. He brought them over to the table and handed one to Lestrade. He sat back down and sighed, bracing himself.

Lestrade spoke up before Sherlock could continue, "Do you want to go into the sitting room? We might be more comfortable there. You really don't have to do this, Sherlock. I was bothered that you were keeping something serious from me, but seeing how uncomfortable you are, it's not necessary." Lestrade reached across the table and Sherlock took his hand, raising it to press a kiss to the older man's knuckles before twining their fingers together.

"I'd prefer to do it here if you don't mind. It's a fairly neutral setting. And I do have to do this, so shut up and let me." A small smile on Sherlock's face belied harshness of his words but he still held himself stiffly.

"Alright, love. Take your time. I'm here." Lestrade squeezed Sherlock's hand.

"I know you've noticed my behavior when we are intimate. That there are certain things I'm comfortable with but other acts I avoid." Sherlock paused and took a deep breath. "When I was away taking down Moriarty's web, there were a few times when I was captured."

Sherlock directed his gaze at the tabletop as he spoke, his voice quiet yet determined. "Usually I was able to talk my way out of trouble. A few times I had to fight my way out. People died. I killed them —"

Lestrade broke in, "I know that, Sherlock. Mycroft showed me parts of your debrief. What you did, what you had to do, doesn't change the fact that you are a good man."

Sherlock looked up and flashed a quick grin at the other man. "That's not what I wanted to tell you. But thank you, Greg. Knowing you feel that way means everything to me." He cleared his throat, sobering abruptly. "As I was saying, I was captured but usually, I managed to get away. One time, however, I wasn't able to escape. I was captured by Serbian rebels and held for three months. Mycroft eventually got me out, though I was close to escaping myself."

"Leave it to Mycroft to steal your thunder. " Greg joked. Sherlock did not smile.

"I'm glad he did. You see, the rebels were not exactly gentle with me. They thought I was a spy, not incorrectly, and used various physical means to attempt to get me to talk." Sherlock felt Lestrade's grip tighten around his hand.

"Your scars," Lestrade said, softly. "Those bastards."

Sherlock nodded once. "Yes, the majority of them come from my time in that Serbian prison. But that was… that was not the worst of it." He turned his head slightly and his gaze focused inward.

"There was one guard who was particularly sadistic. Most of the men I encountered were simply doing their jobs, which just happened to be beating me for information. But one man took specific pleasure from the damage he inflicted on me." Sherlock paused and took a sip of his tea.

Greg held his tongue and loosened his grip on the younger man's hand, realizing he'd been grasping it so tightly as to cut off circulation. Sherlock didn't seem to have noticed. Lestrade rubbed his thumb across the back of Sherlock's hand and waited out the silence.

"Towards the end of my imprisonment, this guard, Petrovic," Sherlock sneered, contempt defining his every feature, "decided to change the manner of my interrogation. After beating me so badly I nearly blacked out… he yanked off my ripped trousers — it'd had been weeks since I had a shirt on my back — and he… " Sherlock's voice caught and he turned a distressed face to Lestrade.

Lestrade who had gone pale during Sherlock's recounting of his torture, for that is what it was, flushed red with realization. "He raped you?!" He whispered, praying it wasn't the case but knowing it was. It explained Sherlock's manner in bed. How he shied away from Greg's touch when it wandered towards his arse. Lestrade felt like a complete shit for questioning Sherlock's motives, for making Sherlock feel he had to share this. But at the same time, he was so grateful the younger man trusted him enough to be open about this horrible event.

'Yes." Sherlock said, plainly. "Before that incident, another guard had attempted to force me to pleasure him orally but I bit down on his dick, earning me a spectacularly vicious beating. But it served as a warning to other guards not to attempt anything similar. Petrovic decided to forgo oral stimulation and instead forced himself upon me."

Sherlock averted his gaze and continued to recite the details of his attack in a toneless voice. "If I hadn't been chained hand and foot, I would have attempted to fight him off but, as it was, I was at his mercy. Thankfully, his superior officer came upon us when he… was finished… From what I was able to ascertain the next day from his fellow guards, Petrovic was punished for his 'unruly behavior' and removed from guard duty. A week later, my brother infiltrated the Rebels and pulled me out. Mycroft, of course, could tell what had transpired but he didn't dare broach the topic with me. After I returned to London, his assistant informed me Petrovic had been shot. Supposedly 'in the line of duty' but I know that was Mycroft's handiwork."

Lestrade stood up and moved to kneel next to Sherlock. "My God, Sherlock. I'm so sorry you had to go through that. You are incredible." Sherlock turned his head and looked at the older man in disbelief.

Greg continued, "To survive such a vicious attack and return to London and act to your friends as though nothing had happened. If not for the nature of our relationship, I'm ashamed to say I may not have noticed your acting differently. I may have just chalked it up to years spent apart."

He gently cupped Sherlock's face and peppered it with kisses. In between kisses he spoke, "Thank you for sharing this with me. I promise I will never ask you to do anything you don't want to do. I hope I haven't made you feel pressured. We don't have to be intimate at all if you like. If you want to speak to a professional counselor, I'll be there for you. I love you and I think you are the strongest, bravest man I have ever met."

Sherlock pulled back to look at his lover, his mercurial eyes shining with unshed tears. "I've loved every moment we've spent together, Greg, including our love making." A blush stained the detective's cheeks. "I may never be comfortable with certain acts, but know that I love what we do together. You have always made me feel safe and I'm incredibly grateful to you for never pushing or forcing me into anything."

He inclined his head and pressed a gentle kiss to Lestrade's lips. Pulling away, he said, "I have the name of a counselor from Mycroft. Should I decide to speak with her, I would appreciate your company."

Greg hugged the younger man tightly.

"Whatever you need, Sherlock. I'll always be here for you. Whatever you need."


End file.
